In this delightful cozy mystery, Sarah Booth Delaney follows a winding trail of murder and deception into a world where ghosts make fashion statements—and where one person’s miracle is another person’s mayhem. “Funny, ingenious, and down-home delightful.”— Dallas Morning News Doreen Mallory is beautiful, mysterious—and claims to have the gift of healing. But why couldn’t she save her own daughter, who died mysteriously at ten weeks? Convinced of Doreen’s guilt, local law is asking the same questions—and it’ll take a modern-day miracle for P.I. Sarah Booth Delaney to prove her innocence. Especially when Doreen refuses to talk about the men in her life. Like the shady televangelist . . . or the married politician with ties to the Mob. Either of them could be little Rebekah’s father; either of them could also be her killer. With Halloween approaching and her own personal life up for grabs, Sarah Booth could use a little faith healing herself. And she’d better be prepared for the fallout of her most unpopular case yet—especially when a decades-old secret explodes, unleashing a storm of fury on Sarah Booth and all those she loves. “[Carolyn] Haines and Sarah Booth are always good value, even for those of us who have to steal the time just to read our favorite books.” — Washington Times The southern Delta has never been more exhilarating, evocative, and wickedly funny than in the mysteries of Carolyn Haines. Now she takes readers on another rollicking ride across the Mississippi cotton fields and into the glamour of New Orleans...as P.I. Sarah Booth Delaney follows a winding trail of murder and deception into a world where ghosts make fashion statements--and where one person's miracle is another person's mayhem. The leaves of the calendar may be shedding faster than the sycamores on her family's decaying Mississippi plantation, but thirty-something southern belle Sarah Booth Delaney isn't ready to sing the blues. Not when she's got a thriving detective agency and the outspoken, outrageously attired ghost of her great-great-grandmother's nanny to keep her on her toes. But the matchmaking phantom may have the last word on motherhood when Sarah Booth takes on the controversial case of an accused baby killer. Although Doreen Mallory's been arrested for feeding sleeping pills to her ten-week-old daughter, no one could accuse her of lacking faith. A healer who, tragically, couldn't save her own baby girl, born with multiple birth defects, Doreen has her own crosses to bear. While the local law seems convinced of Doreen's guilt, Sarah Booth isn't so sure. But why is Doreen reluctant to talk about the men in her life? Like the televangelist who stands to lose a lot more than his flock. Or the married politician with family ties to the Mob. Either of them could be little Rebekah's father; either of them could also be her killer. With Halloween approaching and her own personal life up for grabs, Sarah Booth could use a little faith healing herself. Torn between amarried sheriff and an old flame who's literally sweeping her off her feet, she'd better be prepared for the fallout of her most unpopular case yet. Justice may not stand a ghost of a chance as a decades-old secret explodes, unleashing a storm of fury on Sarah Booth and all those she loves. Witty, suspenseful, and featuring a cast of memorable characters, Hallowed Bones is a riveting tale of faith, murder, and maternal love. It is Carolyn Haines's most accomplished novel yet. "From the Hardcover edition. A native of Mississippi, Carolyn Haines lives in southern Alabama on a farm with her husband, horses, dogs, and cats. She has been honored with an Alabama State Council on the Arts literary fellowship for her writing, a family with enough idiosyncracies to give her material for the rest of her life, and a bevy of terrific friends. She is a former photojournalist.? 1 When the brisk winds of October skim over the drying bolls of cotton, I find myself caught in the web of time. In the rustle of the cotton leaves, in the clear light of autumn, and the grape smell of blooming kudzu, the past lurks like a siren, promising the pleasure of memory and delivering the pain of regret. Sitting on the front porch at Dahlia House, sipping a third cup of coffee, I watch the sycamore leaves drift into the driveway. Dahlia House needs a coat of paint. I need so much more than that. The leaves of the calendar seem to be shedding faster than the sycamores, and I'm caught in limbo. I went to bed last night thinking about Sheriff Coleman Peters and his pregnant wife, and I awoke this morning remembering the feel of Scott Hampton beside me. I sat up in bed, knowing that I let Scott walk away without a single word that might have encouraged him to stay. One word. Please. It might have been enough. That I couldn't ask him to stay while I sorted through the secrets of my heart doesn't make it any easier to wake up alone, remembering a man's touch. October arouses terribl